


The Depths

by PurelyWriting



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Brainwashing, Cannibal Hannibal Lecter, Cannibalism, Dark Magic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, FBI Agent Will Graham, Fix-It, Freddie Lounds is a stalker, Gore, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Platonic Alana/Will, Religious Cults, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Set in Maine, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurelyWriting/pseuds/PurelyWriting
Summary: Will is investigating a string of murders that all lead back to a cult, but as he goes deeper and deeper into investigation he finds himself face to face with an evil he could never comprehend.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. Chasm

Will looked out onto the sea with his hands clasped in front of him, tightly holding. The wash of salt that stung the air masked any scent of rot that might have been present, and as the tide pulled out, what Jack Crawford was looking for was revealed. 

It was nigh disgusting. A body, of course, tied to a sturdy stone wave breaker with rusted chains. It was a drowning victim, but a murder nonetheless. The body had been worn by the violent waves of a coming storm, the body was already missing its legs and head, which no doubt would soon wash upon shore for a terrified tourist to find on their beach holiday. 

“Who kills this way?” Jack’s voice droned from beside Will. He was bundled up in a large trench coat and a thick scarf that nearly covered half of his face, making his voice muffled and crowded against the knitted garment. 

“Someone who doesn’t consider themselves to be a murderer,” Will replied, sucking in a breath of sea breeze. They were far away from where their normal playgrounds were, all the way up in Maine where bodies had started to appear. The sea was different, but very familiar to Will. The bodies were familiar as well, though in a less welcome way. 

Will could feel Jack’s eyes on him, his brow furrowed in question but he did not speak. He was waiting for Will to continue. 

“They,” Will cleared his throat as his mind buzzed, “Prometheus,” he eventually croaked, “when can we get down there?”

Jack crossed his arms, “coast guard is helping. They’re gonna get boats to patrol the area as well as the sea. They’ll look for any of the missing parts.”

“And retrieving the body?” Will asked, watching the waves as they smoothed up the rocky shoreline, bringing kelp and foam with it.

“Katz is on that,” Jack replied, nodding to a small boat where the agent was clumsily getting into the vessel, “the chains are nearly gone, so body retrieval should be an easy job.”

Will didn’t respond, watching the waves pull back again to reveal the body once more. His mind was blank, and then he was there. In the ocean beside the body. He was wearing diving gear, the poor man he was cutting the liver from was not. He was screaming, inhaling water and struggling to get out of the chains that held him down. When the man's liver was removed, Will took the hunting knife he had used to cut the man and carved a symbol into the man’s breast. Will couldn’t make out the mark, and as he came back into his body with the spray of the ocean flourishing around him. He sucked in a few strangled breaths, his eyes adjusting to the sun as it came through the clouds. 

“Will?” Jack’s voice was tinged with worry, and Will felt his warm hand clasp on Will’s arm, “what is it? What do you see?”

Will cleared his throat a few times until he started to hiccup. His body felt too big for him all of a sudden and he didn’t notice that he was falling until Jack was helping him to sit on the sea-soaked rocks. Jack wasn’t a patient man and he sometimes bordered on cruel, but even he could tell when Will was going over the edge. 

“Uhm,” Will fought out, “Prometheus,” he choked out again, “do you know the story?”

“Vaguely,” Jack replied shortly, “he brought humans fire.”

“He was punished for it,” Will breathed, “he was punished by Zeus for disrespecting him. He-he tied Prometheus to a rock and set an eagle to eat his liver. Each day it would grow back, and each day the eagle would return as well.”

“What does this have to do with our victim?” Jack asked, looking back to the boat where Katz was rowing to the body. She fought against the spray of the sea like she knew what she was doing. 

“When you get him,” Will slowly rose to his feet while clutching onto Jack’s arm for support, “his liver should be gone. There,” bile rose in his throat but he swallowed it down as sweat made his body cold in the freezing Maine air. 

“He carved something into his chest,” Will looked away from the sea and back towards the quiet sea side town, “I can’t tell what it is. Look for a hunting knife, too.”

He let go of Jack’s arm and stumbled his way off of the rocks until the ringing in his ears ceased. Alana was waiting for him by the road where the FBI vehicles were stationed. Her arms were crossed to fight off the chill and her face was set in a stone, but when she saw Will cresting over the ridge and all but stumbling down the old wooden steps, she smiled. 

“Are you ready to go?” Her voice was pleasant to Will’s ears, a reprieve from the roar of the sea and the wails of a drowning man. When Will got close enough, she held out her hand for him to take. He took it with shaking hands, his palms sweaty. Alana didn’t care and pulled him into a secure hug. 

Will sagged, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. For the two years that Will had been working with the FBI, Alana had become his rock. The first year he worked he had a full mental breakdown after the murder of Abigail Hobbs, a student who Will had taken a liking to in a way that a father loves a daughter. 

Alana was the one who had found him with fishing wire around his throat in a dissociated daze as he tried to cut his neck. After that, she accompanied him on all of his cases. For her sake, and also because Jack couldn’t stand to lose his precious case solver. 

They stood there together for a while until Will’s breathing evened out, and then Alana pulled back. She smiled at him and Will’s heart fluttered. They would never be together, of course, Alana was married to a nice teacher back in Wolf Trap. She had a kid, a daughter that her wife had given birth to just under a year ago. Will had seen the pictures, he had even gone over every so often. Her name was Juniper, she was a little sun and loved to giggle and run about even though she couldn’t quite stand on her own. Will loved her, and when Alana had announced that he was Juniper’s Godfather he had cried for nearly an hour out of pure love for that little family. 

Alana ran a hand through Will’s hair, untangling the small knots in his curly hair, “Jack will meet back up with us at the hotel,” she said as she pulled away, still smiling that loving smile of hers, “you’re welcome to walk around and explore if you want. We passed by a shelter on our drive into town, maybe you could run around with whatever dogs are there?”

Will nodded mutely and rubbed at his nose. His eyes were burning with unshed tears. Alana had that effect on him, it made him think of his mother. When she was still alive, she cared for him in a very similar way. 

“I’d like that,” Will mumbled, and then, “I miss Winston.”

“I do too,” Alana replied and then gently guided him towards the car. They got in just as clouds rolled in and rain began to patter on the windows. The sky was a light grey, speckled with a colour that was nearing black. Thunder rumbled in the sky as Alana started the car. She pulled out of the small lot and then drove into the main part of town. 

There were people. Of course, there were people. About a thousand residents, gathered behind police tape and local officers who were finally doing their jobs and staying out of Jack’s hair. With them were reporters, with their large flashy cameras and shouts that reached the car. They wanted to know what happened, who died, and why were the FBI here?

Will caught a glimpse of a shock of red hair in the crowd and sunk into his jacket, pulling up the lapels and sinking in his seat. Alana glanced over but didn’t say anything, though Will knew what she was thinking. 

Freddie Lounds, the main writer for Tattle Crime was here. In Maine. She, being a fox in the clothing of sheep, of course had followed them all the way here. She had to get her fix, after all. Will had a sour taste in his mouth just thinking about her. 

He didn’t like her when she appeared at the site of the Stammets case, telling a nearby local officer that she was the mother of one of the boys who had found the body. He didn’t like her when she wrote an article about him, and he especially didn’t like her when he woke up in a cold sweat one night to find her recording him from outside. 

There was no evidence to arrest her, of course, and Jack chalked it up to paranoid nightmares. But Will knew the truth. 

Freddie Lounds wanted to pick Will apart, tear his flesh away and then gnaw at his bones. Will was terrified of her. 

They passed the crowd quickly, soon getting into the more urban areas of the crowd and when the red finally faded from the corner of Will’s eyes, he sat up straight. Soon, they left the town entirely. He didn’t ask Alana about the shelter, he could tell that she didn’t really want him to go. Before he knew it, they were in the woods. 

His mind kept wandering back to the beach, to the body that he had named Prometheus. The past few bodies that he had looked into ended the same. With a mark carved into their skin. It was starting to become a pattern, and yet Will could not place it to any one killer. Each death was different, done by different people who all had the same goal. To mark their territory. 

It was becoming a headache for Jack, but for Will it was a terror. 

After the Shrike, he thought that killing would stop for a little bit. He thought that other serial killers would give the public a break, but this wasn’t a serial killer. Will would liken it more to a…

“A cult,” he breathed, suddenly sitting up straight at a rod, “it’s a cult.”

“What is?” Alana asked, sounding a little alarmed. She glanced at him, though she could not take her eyes off the road for long. 

“The-the-the killings,” Will stammered, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He suddenly felt like he was drenched in sticky sweat, “all of them have a mark carved into their skin-a brand.”

“Will,” Alana warned, but Will ignored her.

He fumbled for his phone, dialling in Jack’s number and pressing it to his ear. It rang for a couple of seconds and then Jack picked up. 

“Will?” Jack’s voice was slightly drowned out by the pouring rain, he was still by the sea, “what’s going on?”

“The bodies are marked,” Will barked, “it’s a cult! That’s why we couldn’t pin it down on anyone, it’s a fucking cult!”

Jack tried to speak but Will barrelled over him, “they have to be stationed somewhere. I need a map marked where all the bodies are found. I think that they’re trying to show us something.”

“What are they showing?” Jack finally was able to ask.

“I don’t know,” Will spat, “a message? I don’t even know what this cult represents. It could be anything.” 

Jack was quiet for a few moments on the other side. “I’ll get you that map,” he said, “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.” And then he hung up. 

Will held the phone to his ear for a few more moments, waiting for the adrenaline to run out of his system. He could feel frustration leaking from Alana. She was upset with him. 

Will bit the inside of his lip as he put away the phone. Alana gripped the steering wheel with a tight grip that had her knuckles turning a pale white. 

“You shouldn’t have thought of it,” she scolded, “Will, you know that this isn’t good for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Will whispered in reply, but he could tell that it wasn’t enough for Alana. She fumed silently, continuing to drive. Will looked out the window and watched as the world passed by. “I just couldn’t not let Jack know about it,” he said, his mouth feeling thick, “they’re connected. I just don’t know where they come from.”

Alana was quiet for a bit, her fingers loosening a little on her grip. Her gaze was steely as she watched the road. It was a long one, one that was winding up through the woods towards their private little hotel that the FBI had rented out. A precaution so that no one would try and peek in on what they were doing. 

“The mark,” Alana finally said, “what does it look like?”

Will looked out into the woods, his eye catching a dark figure with tall antlers for a second before it vanished. Must have been a buck. 

“A circle,” Will managed, “with two lines that connect in the middle, one going up and one going down. They don’t touch.”

“They’re all the same?” Alana continued, “all recognizable?”

“Jack stopped me from keeping pictures for more than a day,” Will choked out a laugh, “so my memory is a little foggy, but yes. They’re all recognizable as the same. Different hands, though. They weren’t carved by the same person.”

“So you think it’s a cult?” 

Will shrugged, “I think.” 

Alana sighed, and they both went quiet as she pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, cutting off the conversation. 


	2. Quick Update (not a chapter)

Hi, I'm really sorry that I haven't updated yet, but my chronic pain has been very bad as of late, so the chapter might not be out for a little while longer. I haven't given up on this fic, but I simply do not have the energy to write at the moment. I write when I can in small bursts, and I can't tell if this flare will go on for much longer but I am trying very hard to recover. :)

Sorry again!!

-Zella.


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